


Banishing Madness

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Series: an unquiet mind [13]
Category: From Paris with Love (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Angst, Anxiety, Character in distress, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Family, Friendship, Horror, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Irish Fairytales & Folklore, M/M, Near Drowning, Paranoia, Partners to Lovers, Prophetic Visions, Protectiveness, Reckless Behavior, Romance, Sensory Deprivation, Sleep Deprivation, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Hearing Loss, Trope Bingo Round 13, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-08 08:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: Legends said that a banshee’s screams could drive a person mad, especially if they were heard more than once. Reece, per usual, gets the shorter end of the stick.





	Banishing Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [h/c_bingo](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/34933.html) for the prompt Sensory Deprivation. Also a fill on my Trope Bingo [card](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/37096.html) for the prompt Character in Distress. 
> 
> **Series:** an unquiet mind
> 
> **Soundtrack:** K’s Choice ‘A Sound That Only You Can Hear’

_~No words, the air we breathe_

_It’s not liquid, but we’re drinking_

_Listen when I’m silent, there’s a…_

_Sound that only you can hear_

_Listen when it’s quiet, I know…_

_You can hear it, cover up your ears_

* * *

Ireland had gone about as smoothly as one could expect.

It was their first case in a while where they hadn’t poured through endless websites and books to determine what they were hunting; hadn’t spent long, fruitless hours pinpointing it to a specific area; had killed it in one attempt and thus, the number of Reece’s visions was drastically lower than usual.

Except, of course, when they found out that what they’d been hunting wasn’t really what they  _should have _ been hunting. 

Through deeper and more careful digging, they discovered how banshees weren’t bringers of destruction but rather messengers of it, which meant that something else was plaguing the small village and the banshee’s presence merely a warning that all was not well, every wailing shriek a portent of imminent death. It didn’t make those screams any less disturbing or ear-splitting or even predictable; after all, they had no idea how many victims the real monster would claim.

Wax, of course, wasn’t affected by them, and neither were the villagers who weren’t family members of the impending deceased. The only explanation why Reece could hear her was because of his visions, which had led them to this small, lost in time village in the first place. Already the townsfolk had found out that Reece was of Irish descent and  _already _ the village elders were volunteering themselves as his matchmakers. 

Wax would roll over laughing but Reece wouldn’t find it so amusing or quaint.

Not when each night a new death was announced with her mournful, piercing cry.

Legends said that a banshee’s screams could drive a person mad, especially if they were heard more than once. Those who had endured one occasion had fallen into temporary catatonia, yet a few of the family members who had suffered it twice had been sent to the hospital to recover.

Reece, on the other hand, had gotten the shorter end of the stick, which was customary. He had suffered through a fifth horrendous occurrence before he had decapitated her and watched Wax bury her head underneath twelve feet of dirt on holy ground. Her body they had burned, burying the ashes in the same patch of earth as her head. Reece had been deaf for half a day by that point, though as freaked out as he had been he could also see the benefit of having some peace and quiet. Oddly enough, with his hearing loss he couldn’t remember what her screeches sounded like; whereas, before that point those screams were playing in a never-ending loop in his head for nearly a week, well on their way to driving him mad.

He wondered if his hearing would have ever come back if they hadn’t killed her. Really, they hadn’t needed to, given the kelpie was their true predator and Reece had practically drowned in the process of killing it. After they’d killed and buried the banshee, Reece’s hearing had come back bit by bit, but it still wasn’t anywhere where it should have been days later and that was what he was dealing with now.

So he had left Ireland without a match and with Wax unhelpfully sulking about the constant rain and ‘the fucking gloom and doom fog’ and half the villagers pushing them out and the other half trying to get them to stay and yes, Reece  _mostly_ deaf and probably half gone mad too. 

Wax didn’t talk much, or if he did it just wasn’t loud enough for Reece to hear him, so they made the long journey back to Paris without speaking, eating and sleeping and writing up reports about the case without so much as a word between them. Those days were  _hell _ for Reece though: anxiety and paranoia plagued his mind and brought along with it sleep deprivation. He was terrified that something would happen when he slept and that he wouldn’t hear anything and that he’d be completely defenseless. So he didn’t sleep, and after three days of that every ounce of effort he put into getting  _some _ sleep evaporated. 

The only thing that didn’t drive him mad was watching Wax sleep, knowing that he could at least be of some use. He lost his appetite, tried not to fall over every time he stood up, every breath he pulled in a chore and every movement he made so tiring he’d be panting for breath before too long, but at least Wax was there, pushing and pulling him where they needed to go.

When they’d stopped over in Bath, Wax had decided enough was enough and booked them a room at a quaint bed and breakfast for most of the week and it helped  _tremendously. _ While Wax was awake throughout the day, pouring over their reports because he probably had nothing else better to do, Reece actually managed to get some sleep. His hearing had picked up enough that he could hear birds chirping outside the window and the kettle boiling over in the other room, but he missed Wax’s voice more and more every day. 

_It’ll come back. It _ has  _to come back. _

So he waited, tried to sleep, tried to eat, tried to read any book that he could get his hands on and mostly tried to relax. They went out a couple of the days to sightsee and eat out, but mostly Reece wanted to be away from crowds and from noise, even if he couldn’t hear most of the latter. Wax picked up on his unease pretty quickly and always gave in, even when it was clear he didn’t want to and would go stir crazy if he had to spend another minute in their little room. Still, Reece wasn’t quite ready yet to be alone, which was why Wax tended to stay in their room or sit downstairs in the lobby or even go outside, right underneath Reece’s window, and play cricket with some of the locals.

He wished he could be out there with him, wished he could feel light and unburdened enough for that.

But every time Wax discreetly peered up at the window, Reece knew he wasn’t far away from his partner’s thoughts either.

Wax  _was _ being oddly patient with him, odd meaning infinite and patience meaning offering enough space that Reece didn’t know what to do with it all. Sometimes Reece just wanted Wax to shake him and shout at him until he heard  _something_ . Other times, he wished Wax would crawl into bed with him and wile away the hours doing nothing at all. 

He didn’t ask, and not only because he couldn’t  _physically _ use words. 

Wax, however, always knew Reece better than Reece thought he did.

He had come back inside without Reece having realized it and was now standing close enough to still make it seem like he wasn’t hovering. The half-confused, half-wary glance he threw Reece led him to believe that he’d been trying to get his attention for at least a few minutes now.

Reece glanced down, not wanting to try a conversation with Wax in the chance that his partner would lose his patience or leave, the latter probably being infinitely worse than the former.

He must have been caught staring at Wax’s chest and at the charms there, for Wax removed the multitude of chains from around his neck, drawing Reece’s attention back towards him as he untangled the white crystal which had been whittled down into a thin, sharp point. Reece had been intrigued by Wax’s charms before, knowing Wax was of Irish ancestry as well. He could see the Celtic Triad more clearly now, along with what looked like a sword but could also be a Celtic cross. Oddly enough, Wax was really into all that mystical stuff, crystals and healing charms and magical talismans, which was why he had been so eager to go to Ireland in the first place.

Until he couldn’t wait to get the hell out.

Rain and storm clouds and dark, dreary weather just didn’t suit Wax much.

And Reece, on the other hand, had entirely different reasons to be depressed during their excursion.

Wax leaned over to slip the chain around Reece’s neck, the dainty crystal resting on his chest. Reece grasped it instinctively, thumb smoothing over the sharp point at its base, glancing up at Wax in astonishment. Wax didn’t say anything, not when he wasn’t sure whether Reece could hear him, but his message came across all the same the more Reece admired the crystal and tried to clear his head. Wax had never spoke of his charms or his beliefs before, but Reece came to the realization that this crystal served as some source of protection. He meant to nod at his partner in thanks until he found Wax already halfway across the room, hunched over his computer and pouring over a stack of files at the small desk.

Reece watched him for a while, wrapping his head around the fact that Wax hadn’t had it easy on this case either. Reece very nearly could have gone mad or permanently deaf, and he supposed that was why Wax had been so eager to kill the banshee even when it was revealed that she hadn’t killed anyone, just sent a few to the hospital. Not only that, but Reece had very nearly drowned trying to kill the true monster. Fortunately, his blind swipe with the silver knife had done enough damage to the kelpie for it to sink down to the depths of the lake.

He remembered as clearly as if it had been hours earlier, how its thick, pearly white blood obscured his vision and robbed him of all sense of direction. How in blind panic he had tried to push the blood away, to right himself before he followed the kelpie down to its grave.

Eventually, fighting harder than he’d ever fought before, his limbs screaming in overexertion and all rational thought sluggish and dwindling and his consciousness rapidly dimming, he had broken the surface, drawing in an overgenerous lungful of air and coughing - his chest encased in fire - for a good length of time before his vision cleared just enough.

He’d never forget the dark figure sprinting across the shore, the way in which it plunged into the freezing lake and met Reece halfway, allowing him to collapse against a hard, impenetrable chest and rest there while Wax swam them to shore. Wax took his weight and did all the work without complaint, Reece too tired to work past his notion that his partner could worry about things for a little while. Bits and pieces of a loud, booming, concerned voice that was unmistakably Wax’s filtered in, but he couldn’t make out any words and Wax latched onto that quickly enough.

Given that Reece couldn’t hear, Wax probably made himself look all the more pissed. Or maybe it was just because he hadn’t gotten to kill anything this case, except for maybe some perfectly fresh flowers which were probably a poor substitute for Reece’s face. Maybe going into that lake  _had _ been a death wish, but it was a risk worth taking to keep more villagers  _and _ his partner out of harm’s way. Besides, if he was going to be deaf for the rest of his life  _with _ the possibility of going mad from the silence or eventually from his visions, then he didn’t much care whether he drowned or not. 

He wondered what Wax would say if he admitted that, or at least that that was his reasoning at the time. Not necessarily after his rescue, when he was cold and miserable and his limbs stiff and sore and his chest waterlogged and aching, when he knew he really wanted to be alive.

To see Wax coming for him one more time, even if it was the last, to know that Wax would  _never_ get fed up with him enough to  _not _ come after him. 

As pissed as Wax was, he was nothing more than a cuddly, worry-stricken bear the last night of their stay in their run-down, leaky cottage. He made Reece hot tea and wrapped him up in blankets and would spend hours tending the small fire, wrapping Reece up in his arms and kissing him until Reece thought he would burst from the attention.

Wax hadn’t needed to talk then; no words could have made up for his affection.

And that was when Reece realized all the more how much he  _did _ want to live. 

“Wax.” He hadn’t spoken in days and a hand grasped his throat, massaging the skin there. The next time he glanced up Wax was sitting on the bed beside him, waiting. Reece tried to think of something else to say. He had just wanted Wax closer and not halfway across the room, had just wanted Wax to know that he hadn’t given up. He could hardly hold back a smile when he remembered some of the overeager villagers. “I don’t think those matchmakers knew what they were doing.” True enough, given he and Wax had already been together well before they’d come to Ireland; they had just kept each other off-limits in fear they’d either be driven out or sacrificed for their sins.

By the look on Wax’s face he could hear him perfectly clear and not only that, he was soon keeled over and halfway to the floor, laughing. “I can hear you laughing,” Reece realized, awestruck, grasping the crystal and clutching it even tighter when Wax’s hand wrapped around his, eyes damp with joy as they smiled gratefully up at him like Reece was something precious, like he was a miracle in and of himself.

That hand was just like the hand wrapped around his heart, keeping it beating, keeping Reece hoping and breathing and  _thriving. _

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll probably write another fic centering on the _actual_ events of this case, more of a story obviously since it’ll be longer, so I can flesh out Irish folklore more. I’ve been wanting to send Reece and Wax to Ireland for _ages,_ especially since Jonathan Rhys-Meyers and John Travolta are _both_ of Irish descent. Also, Wax’s charms are in the film and I often wonder whether John Travolta chose them for his character. Anyway, if you enjoyed this then stay tuned for that one. And thanks for reading! 
> 
> Also, I shamefully stole the matchmaking idea from the film _The Matchmaker._


End file.
